Volcano
by maggief
Summary: Uther is dead. Arthur is King. Merlin is a sorcerer, locked in the dungeons.  Rated T for violence. Friendship. Title taken from the Damien Rice song of the same name. Complete.
1. Don't hold yourself like that

_Don't hold yourself like that/you'll hurt your knees._

It is the day that Arthur is finally crowned King. The coronation is a lavish affair, with every knight and noble in his kingdom paying their respects, kneeling in their fealty before him. Merlin does not come before him. Merlin is locked in the dungeons beneath Camelot. Merlin is a sorcerer.

Contrary to popular belief, Arthur is not blind, nor is he an idiot. He has known about Merlin's magic almost from the start. What hurts him, what makes him angry, isn't that Merlin has magic, it's that he didn't trust Arthur enough to tell him.

He has been in the dungeons for a week now. Imprisoned the day before his father died, finally exposing his magic irrefutably. He had been scheduled to be burned the very day that Uther died. Arthur can't help the hard knot of guilt that forms inside him when he feels glad that his own father is dead instead of his manservant. His Merlin. His magician.

The reason why Merlin is still behind bars is unclear, even to Arthur himself. He doesn't know how to deal with this; the open acknowledgement of all Merlin is, all the power that he holds. It scares Arthur, that the first thing he wants to do with his rule is reject the very principle that his father built his kingdom on. Reject the premise that all magic is evil. It is fear at this huge thing inside of him that keeps Merlin locked up in the dungeons.

Once the last noble has been dispersed from his throne room, Arthur sighs and takes off his crown, leaving it on the seat behind him. He heads to his rooms, the same ones he has always had, he is not taking Uther's rooms, even though they are technically the King's quarters. He doesn't want to sleep in a dead man's bed.

He stops at the entrance to the dungeons along the way. Steels himself with a heavy breath, and calls the guard on duty to him.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Release the prisoner. Release Merlin."

"But..." The knight falters, realising he is no longer questioning just Arthur, he is questioning his King.

Arthur stares at him, prompts him to continue.

The knight barely breathes his reply; "he is a sorcerer, sire."

"Yes, I know," a tight smile graces Arthur's lips. "Release him." And he walks away.

Arthur waits in his rooms. He is pacing when he doesn't remember to stop himself. He hadn't expected Merlin to come to him straight away, knew he would be unsure. But it is well after sundown now, and there is no sign of him.

Arthur is about to give up, go to bed, sleep away his first night as King, when there is a tentative knock on his door. He knows it is Merlin.

"Enter."

Merlin is pale, and looks thinner than ever. Not surprising, Arthur surmises, considering he's just spent a week in the dungeons.

"Arthur..." His voice is as tentative as his knock; unsure and unsteady.

Arthur looks at him for a long moment, assessing, calculating.

"Uther's dead."

Merlin stares back, uncomprehending. Yes, he knows the King is dead, news travels to even the dungeons, and he wonders if Arthur set him free just to tell him this. To tell him that his death, his execution, is at Arthur's behest and not his father's. His chest tightens uncomfortably and he is unable to look at Arthur any longer.

"Uther's dead," Arthur repeats, "and you have magic."

Merlin draws in a sharp breath, unsure of where this is going. Arthur seems to be waiting for a response.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

And just like that, Merlin identifies the emotion in Arthur's eyes. It is not disgust, it is not hatred or loathing. It is hurt, it is anger, it is confusion. Arthur doesn't hate him, doesn't want him dead. So Merlin does the only thing he can think of now he is standing in front of his King. He kneels.

"My Lord. My King. I am sorry."

Arthur stares, and he is silent.

Merlin remains on his knees.

"Merlin..."

Arthur is in front of him, kneeling as well, hands grasping Merlin's arms a little too tightly.

"Whoever," he seems to be struggling to find the right words, "whatever I am, you are..." The words trail off and Merlin raises his eyes to meet Arthur's.

"You do not kneel to me."

Merlin opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Every man kneels before the King. Every man.

It is almost as if Arthur has read his mind. Although that is impossible, Merlin is the one with magic, not Arthur, never Arthur.

"You're the most powerful wizard who ever lived. Or so they say. You're my equal, you're my... You're Merlin. You do not kneel to me."

And just like that, magic is no longer banned in the kingdom of Camelot.


	2. Don't throw yourself like that

_Don't throw yourself like that/in front of me._

It has been several years since Uther's death, several years since the ban on magic was lifted within the kingdom. Merlin has been by Arthur's side for all those years, officially as the Court Sorcerer, and yet still, he is Arthur's manservant. Always by his side, loyal to his death.

A death that seems all the more imminent at this very moment.

They are in the heat of battle. Arthur and his knights are fighting sword to sword, man to man, with King Morholt's men. Merlin is never far from Arthur's side, trying to protect him as always, without having to be subtle about it anymore. It is a lot easier than it used to be.

However, Merlin also has problems of his own. Morholt has his own sorcerer, a dark powerful wizard who is hell bent on destroying Merlin, and then presumably Arthur and all his men. Merlin has been holding his own so far, he is more powerful, but he keeps being distracted by Arthur. Arthur nearby, Arthur fighting, Arthur narrowly missing that blade, parrying, blocking, stabbing, killing.

Sir Leon doesn't move fast enough, and the sharp point of a sword pierces through his breast plate, straight into his heart. Arthur lunges for him, and that's when everything goes to hell.

The enemy sorcerer and Arthur's opponent seem to act in tandem, minds locked together for the same deadly purpose. The sorcerer fires a swirling maelstrom of dark energy at Merlin at the same moment that the swordsman goes for Arthur's throat.

Merlin barely has time to react. He cannot block both the magic hurtling towards him and the sword heading for Arthur with his own magic at the same time, so he does the only thing he can think of. He throws his own magic directly at the dark sorcerer, and throws himself in front of Arthur. Directly into the sword's path.

The sword drives straight through Merlin's stomach, and his shocked gasp is enough to draw Arthur's attention away from a dying Leon. In the blink of an eye Arthur has killed the swordsman and Merlin lies in the bloody grass, blood bubbling out of his abdomen.

"Merlin!" Arthur screams, his throat raw.

"My Lord..."

"Don't you dare die on me you idiot. You're a sorcerer. Heal yourself!"

Merlin blinks at Arthur, watching the movement of his lips, trying to understand his words.

"Merlin!"

Arthur shakes him, dragging him back from unconsciousness. He gropes for Merlin's hands, placing them over the bloody mess that is his manservant's stomach. He's seen Merlin do this a hundred times before, possibly even a thousand. Seen him heal worse than this, he is sure. Hands placed over the wound, a few whispered words, a golden flash in his eyes. He needs him to do it now. Why won't he do it now?

"Merlin, listen to me," he speaks urgently, no longer shouting, grasping tightly at Merlin's hands, now covered in his blood. "You need to heal yourself, Merlin. Do you hear me?"

Merlin just stares at him wordlessly, blue eyes into blue eyes. Desperately Arthur tries to think. What words does Merlin use, what does he say? But Arthur does not know, has never really needed to listen. He is no sorcerer after all.

The battle wages on around him, but Merlin's last outburst had killed the other sorcerer and Arthur's knights have formed a barrier around their King, protecting him. Amidst the shouts and the heavy clang of metal on metal, Arthur nearly misses Merlin's whispered word.

"_iachaiu_..."

Recognition stirs within Arthur, this is the magic he has heard whispered so many times before, and he completes the phrase in the same whispered tone, "_iachaiu am fi tirion arglwyddesau_."

He says the words over and over, willing Merlin to join in with him, because the words alone are not enough, Arthur is not magical, he needs Merlin to complete the spell, Merlin to say the words.

Merlin is so quiet that Arthur thinks he has almost imagined it. However he can see the slow movement of Merlin's lips, and then, gloriously, his eyes glow golden. Arthur feels a warmth that is not from Merlin's blood flow around his hands, and he glances down, breaking the eye contact. His hands are wreathed in the same golden light that is mirrored in Merlin's eyes.

He keeps chanting the spell, Merlin repeating the words softly along with him, as the golden glow grows stronger and stronger. And the suddenly, it is gone. Merlin's eyes close, exhausted, and Arthur keeps his hands entangled with Merlin's, unable to move them and look underneath. After watching Merlin take twenty or so shallow breaths Arthur dares to look, and raises his hands from Merlin's stomach. They are still covered in blood, and so is the area underneath. However his skin, Merlin's perfect pale skin is unharmed, unblemished, not even the slightest scar to tell of what has just happened.

Arthur sags in relief, and then carries Merlin in his arms from the battlefield, away from harm.

* * *

><p>an: I apologise for my butchering of the Welsh language. A simple online dictionary gave me the words, there is no grammar. The spell says "Heal for me gracious lady" because I like to think of magic as feminine :)

Please review, it would mean the world to me, this is my first ever fanfic!


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